


Written In The Scars On Our Hearts

by kinksock22



Series: Dom Dean/sub Sam [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM Scene, Barebacking, Biting, Blindfolds, Bondage, Bottom Sam, Collars, Coming Untouched, Dom Dean, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Dean Winchester, Sex Toys, Spanking, Sub Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:59:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinksock22/pseuds/kinksock22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean takes care of Sam after a few rough weeks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written In The Scars On Our Hearts

To Sam’s surprise, Dean takes to the change in their relationship easier than Sam thought he would. Even the D/s part of it. After that first time, Sam had honestly thought that Dean would backtrack and be unable to go through with what Sam needed from him the next time that he needed it. But Dean turns out to be an attentive, wonderful Dom – Sam really shouldn’t be surprised, Dean is naturally controlling and Sam has always had his full attention even before they started sleeping together – and usually knows what Sam needs before Sam even does, almost like he can sense one of Sam’s ‘episodes’ coming on.   
  
But it’s been a few weeks since they’ve been able to indulge, back to back hunts and a lot of time on the road then a Leviathan issue, and they’ve barely had time to eat or sleep, let alone find the time to fuck or for Dean to give Sam the type of scene that he needs to keep the voices and hallucinations at bay.  
  
Things have finally slowed down and Dean’s on the look-out for the first motel he can find and Sam’s flinching at shadows in the backseat, cringing away from Lucifer’s voice purring right against his ear, telling him that Dean has been avoiding him on purpose, taking all these cases and spending so much time hunting because he doesn’t want Sam, that he never really did, that the only reason Dean even gave in in the first place is because Sam is so weak and pitiful. Hot, moist breath tickles Sam’s neck when Lucifer gets closer, nose nuzzling the hair behind his ear, and whispers how he always wanted Sam, that he can give Sam what he needs, and Sam knows damn-well he still wants it, wants Lucifer.  
  
Sam jerks in his seat, his eyes slamming closed, fingers curling into fists tight enough that his short nails cut into his palm. The pain doesn’t even register, doesn’t make Lucifer or the noises fade at all. Sam’s head is so loud that he can’t think, can barely breathe, his heart pounding in his chest like it wants to break free.   
  
A warm, strong hand clamps down on the back of his neck and Sam whimpers, curling into himself as much as his long frame will allow. “Sam!”  
  
Somehow, that voice – the one he knows so well, that he’s been hearing his whole life – manages to break through the haze, drowning out the swell of noise and Sam’s eyes snap open and he turns his head. Dean’s looking at him, green eyes hard but worried and Sam realizes that the car isn’t moving anymore.  
  
“Dean?” he rasps, voice raw and broken, throat sore like it has been shredded. Or like Sam’s been screaming. He can feel drying tear tracks on his cheeks, his eyelashes sticky when he blinks owlishly. “I don’t… What?”  
  
“Dude, you’ve been screamin’ bloody murder for like, five minutes. You wouldn’t stop. Like you couldn’t even hear me. Or yourself.” Sam swallows thickly, cringing at the pain in his throat. Well, at least he knows now why it hurts so bad. “What’s goin’ on?”  
  
They’ve been together for months now and in that time Sam hasn’t had to actually tell Dean since the first time. Dean anticipates and acts. Sam doesn’t know _how_ to tell him.   
  
Turns out he doesn’t have to. Understanding floods his brother’s eyes after a few moments and he huffs out a soft sigh. “Fuck,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, Sam. I know it’s been a while and I didn’t mean to…”  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam cuts him off, forcing a smile that feels wrong and crooked on his face. Lucifer laughs behind him, leaning over the front seat between them, looking right into Sam’s eyes. _You know I’m right Sam_ , he murmurs sweetly. _He hasn’t touched you ‘cause he can’t stand to. You’re too weak and needy. Pathetic. A freak. What kind of person needs his brother, **wants** his brother, like you do?_ “We’ve been busy,” Sam forces himself to continue, forces himself to ignore the Devil between him and his brother and how what he’s saying sounds so much like the truth.  
  
“It’s not okay,” Dean argues. “Can you hang on just a little bit longer? Lemme get us somewhere?”  
  
“Of course, Dean,” Sam answers dutifully with that same plastic smile.  
  
“Why don’t you get some sleep.” It sounds like a suggestion but Dean’s using _that_ voice and Sam knows it’s a command. The inner sub inside him preens with having a command to follow from his Dom, just that little bit of Dean’s control being exercised enough to make him want to drop to his knees and curl around Dean’s legs and thank him. But the noise inside his head doesn’t quiet down and he wants to beg Dean to pull him out of the car right now and _help him_.   
  
Sam obediently closes his eyes and leans against the cool window.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Dean pulls back out on the highway, cursing himself under his breath for letting it get this far. He could see the shadows starting to creep into Sam’s eyes and he fucking _knew_ it was coming but they’ve just been so fucking busy, there was no way he felt safe enough to get them into a scene, to get Sam to that point and thus leave him vulnerable.   
  
But now it’s obvious that he can’t just pretend that Sam’s okay and ignore it for a little longer. It’s too far gone, _Sam’s_ too far gone. And he’s going to need something big to bring his brother back this time, he just knows it.  
  
It’s not that Dean hasn’t wanted to be with Sam, that he hasn’t missed even plain, vanilla sex in the past few weeks but things have completely gone to shit around them and it just hasn’t left time for some things. Hell, a lot of times recently they haven’t even had time to eat or sleep.   
  
He knows that he’s going to have to figure out a way to deal with Sam’s needs even if they’re busy, that he needs to find a safe way to let them have a scene that won’t leave either of them with their pants down – literally and figuratively – prime for some piece of shit monster to pick off.  
  
He glances over to check on his brother, his heart twisting in his chest. Sam’s eyes are closed and he’s trying so hard to pretend that he’s sleeping, to follow Dean’s order, but it’s painfully obvious that he’s failing miserably – Dean taught the kid the whole fake sleeping thing himself, no way Sam can fool him, never has been able to. He can see Sam flinching and cringing, his hands twitching in his lap.   
  
Huffing a sigh, he reaches over and grabs the back of Sam’s neck again, softly shushing him when he whines, and pulls him across the seat, tucking him against his side. Sam turns his head into Dean’s neck, inhales deeply and Dean’s pleased to feel at least _some_ of the tension leave his brother’s frame.  
  
“I’mma take care’a it, Sammy,” Dean promises, one hand curling into the mess of Sam’s hair. “I’mma take care’a you, little brother.”  
  
Dean takes the next exit that has a motel, a plan already brewing in his mind.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Sam must have ended up at least half-dozing a bit. He jerks when Dean’s hand squeezes his shoulder, harder than he usually would and his eyes snap open, automatically looking to his brother. Dean smiles and shakes him slightly. “C’mon, Sam,” Dean orders, _that_ voice again, and Sam obeys immediately. He follows behind Dean without question into a motel room, stumbling to a stop when Dean presses both hands to his shoulders. He blinks up at Dean, forcing his attention to remain on his brother and not the gruesome scene in the corner of the room – he really doesn’t want to watch whatever the hell Lucifer is doing.   
  
“Strip,” Dean commands, arms crossed over his chest, legs shoulder-width apart, every inch of his body screaming domination and control. Sam shivers and once again obeys immediately, dropping every piece of clothing at his own feet. Dean nods once and circles around him, not touching, and Sam’s body vibrates with need. Lucifer laughs and Sam hears the wet splat of what can only be blood, squeezes his eyes closed to keep from seeing whatever it was.  
  
Thick fingers curl in Sam’s hair, pulling _hard_ , and Sam gasps. “Open your eyes,” Dean murmurs. Sam does, reluctantly. Dean pulls his hair again and Lucifer flickers, the sounds quieting to a dull rush. Sam’s shoulders relax, just barely. “I need to go get a few things that we’re gonna need,” Dean tells him once Sam is looking at him again and Sam’s anxiety returns ten-fold. “I’ll be gone twenty minutes at the most.”  
  
“D-Dean,” Sam stammers, bites down on his bottom lip.  
  
Dean steps into him, the entire warm front of his still-clothed body pressing to Sam’s bare skin. Dean’s jacket is cold but his shirt and jeans are body-warm and Sam wants to melt against him. The hand not in Sam’s hair curls around his waist and Dean brushes a kiss to the corner of Sam’s lips. “Before I go,” Dean continues, soft but firm. “I want you on that bed, on your stomach, hands on the headboard.”  
  
“Yes, Dean,” Sam replies quietly.  
  
“Good boy,” Dean praises, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair and squeezing his waist. Sam shivers with pleasure.  
  
Dean lets go and Sam crawls onto the bed, spreading out on his stomach, fingers curling around the wooden slats of the headboard. He hears Dean moving around, the sound of him digging through one of their bags then feels the mattress dip beneath his brother’s weight. He drapes himself over Sam’s back, mouthing wetly at his neck and shoulder, biting marks that make Sam tremble, his cock hardening.   
  
Dean’s hands slide up his arms and Sam flinches when he feels metal circle around his wrists, glances up to see Dean handcuffing him to the bed.   
  
“Dean?” he whispers, already starting to panic.  
  
“Shh,” Dean breathes against his ear, biting down hard on the lobe. Sam jerks, his cock getting harder, thicker. “Easy, Sam. You’re okay, baby boy.”   
  
Sam closes his eyes and forces himself to relax, to give himself over to his brother’s care. His inner sub purrs despite the worry still swirling in Sam’s mind. He can’t get away from the shit he’s seeing if he’s bound. But he trusts Dean, knows that Dean will take care of him, and the worry quiets, at least a little.  
  
“That’s my boy,” Dean murmurs, kissing his temple.   
  
Sam whines when Dean’s weight disappears from his back. Dean’s chuckle is warm and fond and he pets one hand down Sam’s back, over the curve of his ass. “Patience,” he scolds gently.  
  
Sam pouts but doesn’t say anything, turns his head so that he can see his brother over his shoulder. Dean smacks his ass, just a quick slap with his hand, but the sting heats Sam’s blood and he groans, hips squirming to try and get some friction on his cock.  
  
“Stop that,” Dean snaps, slapping him again, right in the same spot, a little harder. The loudness in his head is completely gone and so is Lucifer and Sam melts into the mattress, tilting his ass up, silently begging for more. Dean doesn’t disappoint, spanking him several more times, warming his ass up good but not going too far, not yet. “Eyes forward,” Dean orders, smoothing his fingers over the blood-warm skin of Sam’s ass cheek.  
  
A kiss is pressed against his shoulder when he complies and Dean rumbles another, “Good boy,” before sliding his hands up the insides of Sam’s thighs. “Open.”  
  
Sam shifts and spreads his legs, his eyes fluttering closed. Cool lube trickles down the cleft of his ass and Sam jerks, cuffs rattling. Dean smears two fingers through the sticky mess then circles them around his hole, carefully pushing them inside. Sam moans, fingers curling into useless fists as he jerks at his restraints. “Stop that,” Dean snaps. “Gonna hurt yourself.”  
  
Sam stills his arms but can’t stop the movement of his hips, pushing back onto Dean’s fingers, wanting them deeper, wanting more. Wanting _Dean_. His brother works his fingers into him for a few minutes before pulling them away, shushing Sam softly when Sam whimpers.   
  
He frowns when he feels the blunt tip of something pressing against his rim, too cold and unyielding to be his brother’s cock. Dean shushes him again, one hand rubbing the small of his back as he pushes _something_ inside Sam, cold, hard plastic from the feel of it, whatever it is getting wider before tapering once Dean has it all the way inside.  
  
“Picked this up a few weeks ago,” Dean explains, twisting it inside him. “Found a sex shop and couldn’t resist checkin’ it out. Found this,” he twists what Sam now realizes is some kind of toy, pressing it right against Sam’s prostate, “and thought you’d like it.”  
  
“Wha-?” Sam breathes, pushing his hips back. Dean removes his hand and smacks his ass in warning.  
  
“Butt plug, Sammy,” Dean informs him and Sam can _hear_ the smirk in his brother’s tone.  
  
~~**~~  
  
Sam’s shoulders flex, golden skin already gleaming with sweat. Dean’s hard as a fucking rock and he’s really fucking tempted to call this whole thing off and just fuck him right here, right now. But he knows that wouldn’t really solve the problem, at least not for more than a few hours. Sam needs more. And damn if Dean isn’t going to give him whatever he needs.  
  
He taps the base of the plug, knows it’s sitting _right_ on Sam’s sweet spot. His brother moans, shifts his hips. Dean’s fingers feather over the blood-warm skin of his ass, biting his bottom lip. As soon as Sam stills, he draws his hand back and slaps him again, right over one of the handprints that he’s already left. Sam moans again, louder, harsher, and Dean dips down, kissing his cheek, tasting the salty tang of tears.  
  
“Okay, now, like I told you. I gotta run out. The room is warded and I’ll lock the door. _Nothing_ can get in. I’ll be just down the block and I’ll be right back. Okay?”  
  
“Dean,” Sam breathes, squeezing his eyes closed tighter, a few more tears trickling down his cheeks.  
  
“You’re gonna be fine,” Dean murmurs. “Be my good boy, alright? No rubbin’ off against the bed.”  
  
Sam inhales shakily and nods. Dean clenches his fingers in Sam’s hair and tugs. “Look at me.” Sam opens his eyes and looks up at him, need and fear and trust and love in those shiny-wet, glittering hazel depths. “I would _never_ let anything happen to you,” Dean promises. “’specially when you’re like this. You’re gonna be fine.”  
  
Honestly, leaving Sam trussed up and hard, a freaking plug up his ass, naked and vulnerable, makes Dean’s skin crawl but he has to this time. Luckily the place he needs is really just a block away. “Trust me?” he half-asks, half-commands.  
  
Sam’s shoulder relax as much as they can and he flashes Dean a soft, sweet smile. “Always,” he breathes.  
  
Dean smiles back and dips down, brushing a soft, chaste kiss to Sam’s lips. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”  
  
~~**~~  
  
Despite the sting of his spanked-red ass and the pulsing in his balls and the pressure of the plug, the moment Dean is up and out the door, Lucifer appears. He leans down and laughs in Sam’s face. _Told you_ , he taunts. _Trussed you up and just left you like this. You do know that he’s not coming back, right, bunk buddy? You know it’s just you and me, for the rest of eternity, Sammy-boy_.  
  
Even though Dean told him not to, Sam tugs on the cuffs, the sharp bite of pain in his shoulders and wrists momentarily making Lucifer flicker. Sam closes his eyes and shifts his hips, gasping when he feels the plug move, pressing harder against his prostate and his cock drags across the mattress. He does it again, and again, ends up basically humping the bed, friction on his cock and pressure against his sweet spot so good, pushing him so close to the edge.   
  
But he forces himself to stop, denying himself. Dean specially told him not to rub off on the bed and he didn’t give Sam permission to come. His groin tightens almost painfully, his balls throbbing with the denial of his release.   
  
A sharp smack on his ass catches him off guard and his eyes snap open, head whipping around to look over his shoulder. Dean’s standing at the side of the bed, one eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his chest. Sam had been so lost in the sensations in his body, in trying to keep Lucifer at bay, he hadn’t even heard Dean come back.  
  
“D-Dean,” Sam stammers, cheeks flushing, eyes dropping to his brother’s chest.  
  
“What’d I tell you, Sammy?” Dean asks quietly, tone low and even, almost dangerous.  
  
“I know,” Sam mutters. “And I’m so sorry. I just… I couldn’t… He was…”  
  
Dean drops down to kneel next to the bed, one hand pushing the sweat-damp hair off Sam’s forehead. “Slow down,” he commands. “Start over.”  
  
Sam inhales deeply and nods, blinking away a few tears clinging to his eyelashes. “As soon as you left,” he whispers. “L… _He_ showed up. Said that… Never mind.”  
  
“Said what, baby boy?” Dean urges.  
  
“Said you weren’t comin’ back,” Sam admits quietly.   
  
“That’s bullshit, Sam,” Dean half-growls. Sam flinches slightly. “Sorry, baby,” Dean coos, petting his hair. “But you know that’s bullshit. Why would you believe that? And now of all times?”  
  
“He, uh, he’s been talking to me for days,” Sam replies quietly, once again dropping his eyes.  
  
“What’s he been sayin’, Sammy?” Dean asks softly, gently, but Sam can still hear the anger in his voice, how he’s forcing himself to remain calm.  
  
“That you don’t really want me,” Sam sighs. “That ‘m weak and pathetic. He… He even said a few times that I never got out…”  
  
Dean cuts him off with an almost-brutal kiss, fingers curled into a fist in the back of Sam’s hair. “Listen to me,” Dean growls against his lips. “I got you out, that’s the most important thing to remember. As for the rest? It’s all bullshit fuckin’ lies. You’re not weak, you’re not pathetic. You’re one of the strongest people that I know. And there has never nor will ever be a time that I don’t want you.” He pauses, kissing Sam once more. “I love you, little brother. The only reason I left was to get a few things for tonight. That’s it.”  
  
~~**~~  
  
Sam licks his lips, blinking owlishly, a slight flush creeping across his cheeks. Dean smiles and tips Sam’s head down, brushing a kiss to his brother’s forehead. “You just gotta remember to trust me, Sam,” Dean continues, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair. “Stone number one, right?”  
  
Sam nods, a soft, small smile curling his lips. “I do trust you,” he whispers. “You know I do.”  
  
“I know, baby boy,” Dean sighs softly, kissing Sam once more before pulling away completely. He rubs his hand over Sam’s shoulders, down the still-tense line of his back. “You, uh, you still wanna go through with this tonight? We don’t have to. We can just sleep or just have some good old-fashioned, vanilla sex,” Dean grins, flashing Sam a wink. It’s taken a bit of time to get used to being so open and straightforward about sex with Sam but Dean has worked hard to get past the awkwardness and the urge to deflect with humor or lewd comments. Sam responds best to him when Dean is confident and calm. It upsets him if Dean ends up stammering and blushing like a freaking virgin.  
  
Sam bites down on his bottom lip and glances up at Dean through his lashes. Dean recognizes the slight look of defiance in his brother’s eyes before Sam deliberately tugs on the cuffs still binding him to the headboard. Openly defying Dean’s command. Dean raises one eyebrow and Sam’s eyes narrow slightly in response, pretty much out-right challenging Dean as he wiggles his hips against the mattress.  
  
Dean clears his throat and stands up, shifts his shoulders and flips over into Dom mode.   
  
Dean knows that Sam is angling for punishment, that he wants the sharp sting of Dean’s hand – or even his belt – against his ass. But at this point, that would be more of a reward and Dean may adore his brother and will give Sam whatever he wants, but he can’t be manipulated _that_ easily.   
  
Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean tilts his head, silently watching Sam for a few long moments, letting his brother get to the point of almost tiring himself out. “Now I know damn-well that I told you _not_ to tug on those cuffs and _not_ to rub against that mattress,” Dean states, tone steady and even. “Keep that shit up and I’ll truss you up completely, put you in a cock ring and leave you like that all night. While I sleep on the couch.”   
  
Sam’s eyes widen as he stares up at him, his body locking up tight, every muscle frozen like someone pressed pause. Dean smirks and nods, drops one hand to Sam’s head, petting briefly over his hair. “Good boy,” he praises. Sam leans just barely into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed as his body relaxes, melting completely into the mattress. Dean dips down and presses a kiss to the corner of Sam’s lips. “I’m gonna uncuff you so you can flip over for me,” Dean explains. “But as soon as your back hits the mattress, arms back up, understood?”  
  
“Yes, Dean,” Sam answers softly, obediently.  
  
Dean crawls up onto the mattress and kneels next to his brother’s side, undoing the first cuff. He gently lowers Sam’s arms, hands carefully but briskly massaging the strained muscles. Sam keeps his eyes closed, a small, sweet smile curling his lips, mewling softly whenever Dean hits a good spot. Dean can’t help but smile fondly in response, pleased to see Sam so pliant and peaceful and content. Once he’s done with the first side he repeats the treatment on the other arm, ending by straddling the backs of Sam’s thighs and rubbing his shoulders until his brother isn’t much more than a big puddle of goo.   
  
He climbs back off the bed and grabs Sam’s hand, helping him to sit up, steadying him when Sam sways slightly, blinking slowly to get his bearings. As soon as Sam’s stable, he immediately lays back down, arms above his head, fingers curled around the slats of the headboard, staring up at Dean expectantly. Dean cards his fingers through Sam’s hair again in silent praise and quickly recuffs Sam’s wrists to the headboard.  
  
Dean checks the tightness of the cuffs then steps away from the bed, turning his back to his brother. He takes a deep breath and opens the bag he brought in with him, pulling out a few of the items that he’d bought – the rest would be for another night – and sets everything on the table. He shrugs out of his jacket and over-shirt, kicks off his boots and socks, leaving him wearing just a t-shirt and jeans. When he turns back to Sam, his brother is watching him, just like Dean expected, his eyes an interesting mix of excited, curious, expectant, wary and needy. To Sam’s credit, he doesn’t look down at the things Dean had laid out, keeping his full attention on Dean.  
  
Dean licks his lips and slowly, obviously, drags his eyes down the long line of Sam’s body, taking in the defined muscles and tan skin, the light sheen of sweat covering him from head to foot, the flush of arousal staining his cheeks and chest, and his long, thick cock, still hard and leaking against his abs. The way Sam’s long legs are spread Dean can see just the shadowed cleft of his ass, can perfectly imagine the base of the plug still inside his brother, keeping him stretched open. The thought has his own cock twitching behind his zipper.  
  
Sam squirms slightly beneath Dean’s gaze, almost like Dean is actually touching him. Dean quirks an eyebrow and Sam inhales deeply and with obvious force, stops himself from moving.   
  
Dean leans his ass back on the table and crosses his arms over his chest. “I picked up a few things for tonight,” Dean explains. “If there’s something that you don’t like or makes you uncomfortable, I expect you to speak up. You _will not_ just tolerate anything or try to tough it out. Understood?”   
  
“Yes, Dean,” Sam answers softly.  
  
Dean nods and grabs his collection, dropping everything onto the bed next to Sam’s hip. He picks up a thick, black leather collar and holds it up for Sam to see. Sam licks his lips, bites down on the bottom one, his eyes flicking from Dean’s hand to his face. “It’s not for all the time,” Dean murmurs. “Just when we’re in a scene. If you want it. If you don’t, that’s fine too.”  
  
“I want it,” Sam replies quietly, tilting his chin up just slightly.   
  
Dean smiles and leans down, kissing Sam slow and thorough as he slides the collar around Sam’s neck, carefully moving his hair out of the way to buckle it. Dean swallows thickly when he pulls back, the slight of supple, black leather around the long, beautiful line of Sam’s neck is just as sexy as he knew it’d be. Knowing that it’s _his_ collar that Sam is wearing speaks to the possessive, controlling side of him, and makes it even fucking better.  
  
Next, Dean shows Sam a black blindfold. Sam swallows thickly but nods, eyes closing as Dean slips the thick material over the top of his head. Dean cups Sam’s cheek, smiling softly when Sam leans into the touch. “I won’t leave you alone,” Dean promises. “I may not be touching you the entire time but I’ll be right here, right by you, okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Sam mutters, instinctively turning his head toward the sound of Dean’s voice.  
  
Dean brushes a kiss to Sam’s forehead then pulls away, reaching for the last item he plans to use tonight. He presses it to Sam’s open palm, lets him feel it. He can see Sam’s brow furrow, his lips turning down just slightly. “It’s just a cock ring,” Dean explains.   
  
Sam inhales deeply, his nose wrinkling adorably, but still nods. He grimaces when Dean slips it on, hips shifting just slightly. Once he gets used to the unfamiliar pressure, the movement stops and he exhales slowly.   
  
Dean steps back and takes in the complete sight before him, dropping one hand to palm his rock-hard cock. Fuck but Sam looks like pure sin spread out and trussed up like that. All for _him_.   
  
~~**~~  
  
Sam tries his best to clear his mind and relax into the mattress, ignoring the loss of his vision and the restrictive pressure around his straining cock. Both sensations are uncomfortable and unfamiliar but not anything that he doesn’t think he can handle.   
  
The collar makes up for it.  
  
He was surprised to see the thick, black leather collar in his brother’s hand. He can admit that he wasn’t really sure about it at first but from the moment Dean slipped it around his neck, he felt a sense of peace, of belonging, that he’d only felt before when wrapped tight in Dean’s arms. He likes it, likes to be able to swallow thickly or tilt his head just right and feel the heavy weight against his Adam’s apple and the buttery-soft inside sliding against his neck.  
  
So far inside his own head, Sam jerks when he feels Dean’s hands on his hips, the rough scrape of denim against the inside of his thighs. He hears the low rumble of his brother’s chuckle and feels the soft, wet press of his lips against his stomach, right below his belly button.   
  
“Relax, baby,” Dean murmurs.  
  
Sam licks his lips and nods, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly. Dean slides his lips up Sam’s stomach to his chest, stopping to tease his tongue around one nipple, while one hand drops down between his legs, pressing against the base of the plug, tilting it up hard against his prostate. Sam can’t bite back a moan at the dual sensations, his cock twitching, fresh pre-come leaking down the swollen, sensitive tip.  
  
Dean spends just a few moments teasing his nipple and the plug before pulling away. Sam frowns when Dean’s warmth disappears completely, the mattress shifting with his weight. Despite Dean’s assurance after placing the blindfold over his eyes and despite knowing _Dean_ well enough to know that his brother wouldn’t leave him cuffed and blind, he still feels panic welling in his chest, his hands automatically curling into fists as he tries to sit up, tugging at his bonds.  
  
“Easy,” Dean murmurs from beside him. Sam turns his head in the direction of his brother’s voice, tense muscles instantly relaxing again. “Told you, Sammy,” Dean breathes against his ear, teeth scraping the lobe, “Not gonna leave.”  
  
“I-I know,” Sam stammers.  
  
Dean cards his fingers through Sam’s hair, slides their lips together, slow and sweet. “I’ve got you,” Dean promises against his lips. “Trust me.”  
  
“I do,” Sam replies automatically.  
  
Dean slides one hand down his chest before pulling away but Sam can tell he doesn’t move away from the bed. His other senses are starting to compensate for the lack of vision and he can hear the sound of Dean’s breathing, the soft sound of clothing being removed, can smell his brother’s distinctive scent of leather and coffee and gun powder. He closes his eyes behind the blindfold even though he doesn’t need to – can’t see a damn thing through the thick material anyway – and focuses on where he can sense Dean is.  
  
The mattress dips again with Dean’s weight and Sam feels warm, bare skin brush against his side, can smell the musky scent of Dean’s arousal. He tilts his head slightly to the side when he feels weight across his chest, brow furrowing for a moment before he realizes that Dean is straddling his chest, can almost picture it in his mind. He gasps when he feels something slick slide across his lips, automatically licks them and gets a taste of skin and pre-come.  
  
“Dean,” Sam moans, mouth already watering just from the brief taste. One thing he’s discovered that he _really_ enjoys since he started sleeping with his brother is giving head. In fact, sucking Dean’s cock is his second favorite thing they do; second only to Dean fucking him.  
  
“Open up, little brother,” Dean commands, voice low and deep, _Master_ even though Dean hates the term. Sam’s lips drop open immediately, chin tilted up. Dean hums deep in his throat, rubs just the tip of his cock over Sam’s mouth, leaving behind a thick, sticky messy. “Good boy,” Dean rumbles. “Such a good boy for me, Sammy.”  
  
Warmth floods through Sam and he barely resists purring at the praise. There’s weight against the pillow next to Sam’s head – more than likely Dean’s hand, holding himself up – then Dean is slowly – so fucking _slowly_ – feeding his cock into Sam’s mouth. The angle isn’t great and Sam can’t bob his head like he’s used to, but it still feels fucking amazing. The thick, hard length stretching his lips open, the silky-soft skin and the heavy weight against his tongue, the bittersweet tang of pre-come as Dean pushes in as deep as he can. Sam’s own cock twitches almost violently, the pressure of the plug not helping at all, just managing to drive him even crazier with no relief in sight. He knows, without a doubt, that when Dean draws out then thrusts back in, a little harder and faster, that without the ring he’d come, completely untouched.  
  
Dean fists his free hand in Sam’s hair, holding his head up off the pillow just slightly, and proceeds to fuck his mouth, thrusting in deep enough to hit the back of Sam’s throat, almost but not quite far enough to trigger his gag reflex – which they’re working on training out of him – pulling out completely on every third or fourth stroke, spit and pre-come leaking down Sam’s chin, Dean smearing his blood-hot, swollen cock-head through the mess before pushing back in. Sam can feel his jaws starting to ache pleasantly, his lips numb and tingly, likely red and swollen.  
  
Dean shifts his knees, scooting up just a bit higher, thighs around Sam’s shoulders, and bends down further over Sam. The hand in his hair tightens almost painfully – tearing another hoarse, raspy moan from Sam’s throat at the pleasured-pain – and rests just the tip against Sam’s bottom lip.  
  
“Ready, sweetheart?” Dean drawls.  
  
Sam moans in agreement, not sure _what_ he’s agreeing to but wanting it nonetheless. Dean pushes forward, spreading Sam’s lips, and keeps pushing, past the point he’d stopped before, pushing into the back of Sam’s throat. And stops. Sam tries to breathe normally through his nose but he can’t seem to get enough air into his lungs, can feel his head starting to tingle, white spots dancing in front of his eyes in the darkness behind the blindfold. He can feel his face getting red, the sweat dampening his temples, his whole body starting to shake. Dean pushes him right to the edge then just barely past it before carefully pulling out, both hands cradling Sam’s cheeks as he heaves and coughs, trying to draw in enough oxygen.  
  
Dean kisses almost every inch of his face, murmuring the entire time how good Sam is, how perfect, how beautiful he looked choking on Dean’s cock like that. Sam leans heavily into his brother’s touch, chest still heaving, his entire groin aching at this point with the need for release.  
  
“Dean, please,” he rasps, tone gritty and rough unlike he’s never heard it before.  
  
Dean’s hands end up in his hair, curled into tight fists, mouth plundering Sam’s, tongue sliding together nearly brutally, more like fighting than actual kissing. He pulls away just as fast and Sam can feel him crawl backward down Sam’s body, can feel Dean lift his boneless legs and drape them over his shoulders. He teases the base of the plug for a moment before gently, carefully pulling it out. Sam groans, fingers curling around the links of his cuffs, shoulders straining even though Dean told him not to.   
  
Once the toy is out, Dean’s lube-slick fingers slide over the warm, puffy flesh, circling around the rim but not pushing in. Sam wants to cry, to beg him to just do _something_. Being so empty after being so deliciously full for so long is bordering on torture.   
  
“Please,” he hears himself whimper again. He jerks when Dean’s fingers touch his face, finally feeling a few tear tracks that have slipped past the blindfold.  
  
“Been so good, baby,” Dean murmurs. “Despite the rough start. Gonna give you what you want, what you need.”  
  
Dean bends him nearly in half, hands on the mattress next to Sam’s shoulders, knees folded over Dean’s broad shoulders, legs spread wide enough to feel the strain in his inner thighs. Before he can take a breath, Dean snaps his hips forward, hard and fast, burying himself to the hilt in one thrust. Sam cries out, back arching, shoulders pulling as he tries to reach his brother, needing to touch all that warm skin and firm muscles.   
  
Dean doesn’t pause, just immediately falls into the fast, nearly brutal pace that Sam needs when he feels like this. His mind is pleasantly silent aside from the sounds that they’re making and there isn’t even a glimmer of Lucifer in the background.   
  
Limited as Sam’s movements are, he pushes down into every thrust as best as he can, squeezing his inner muscles, hips tilted to make sure that Dean hits that perfect spot on every thrust. His cock and balls _throb_ , his groin tight from being denied his release. He can hear a high-pitched whining, takes a long few moments to realize the sound is coming from him.  
  
Dean reaches up and pulls off the blindfold. Sam blinks back reflexive tears, his gaze automatically seeking his brother. Dean dips down and kisses him, wet and dirty, then pulls back, sits up on his heels but keeps Sam’s legs over his shoulders, spread wide, rolling his hips hard and deep.  
  
“Dean,” Sam sobs, turning his head into his pillow. “Please… Need…”  
  
“Know what you need,” Dean growls. He reaches down and flicks the lock on the cock ring. Just one more perfect, hard thrust of Dean’s cock against his prostate and Sam comes screaming, back arching, whole body trembling. Dean works him through it, praising him the entire time even though Sam barely registers the words, just the comforting rumble of his brother’s voice.  
  
He collapses against the mattress, breathing heavy, holding the position despite the ache in his muscles as his brother slams forward a handful more times before pushing in deep, almost deep enough to hurt, and grunts, coming as well.   
  
Sam closes his eyes and half-dozes, barely aware of Dean uncuffing him and cleaning them both up. Using the last bit of energy Sam has, he curls into Dean’s side once his brother settles on the bed next to him, smiling tiredly when Dean ends up with two fingers tucked into his collar, other arm around his waist, keeping Sam close. Like he has _anywhere_ else he wants or needs to be.  
  
Dean pets and cuddles and kisses him, whispers how perfect Sam is, how good he is for Dean and Sam falls asleep with his mind empty. Aside from wondering what else Dean has in that bag he brought back inside with him.   
  



End file.
